"Now that sort of thing," observed the banker weightily,
"would never be allowed in England; perhaps, after all, we had better
choose another route. But the courier thought it perfectly safe."

"It is perfectly safe," said the courier contemptuously.
"I have been over it twenty times. There may have been some old
jailbird called a King in the time of our grandmothers;
but he belongs to history if not to fable. Brigandage is utterly
stamped out."

"It can never be utterly stamped out," Muscari answered;
"because armed revolt is a recreation natural to southerners.
Our peasants are like their mountains, rich in grace and green gaiety,
but with the fires beneath. There is a point of human despair where
the northern poor take to drink--and our own poor take to daggers."

"A poet is privileged," replied Ezza, with a sneer.
"If Signor Muscari were English he would still be looking
for highwaymen in Wandsworth. Believe me, there is no more danger
of being captured in Italy than of being scalped in Boston."

"Then you propose to attempt it?" asked Mr Harrogate, frowning.

"Oh, it sounds rather dreadful," cried the girl, turning her
glorious eyes on Muscari. "Do you really think the pass is dangerous?"

Muscari threw back his black mane. "I know it is dangerous:"
he said. "I am crossing it tomorrow."

The young Harrogate was left behind for a moment emptying a glass of